


Strange & Son

by cincoflex



Series: Strange Stories [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Genre: Domesticity, F/M, Married Sex, Space Son, parenting styles?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:00:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8106760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cincoflex/pseuds/cincoflex
Summary: Stephen and Sydney's son Caleb is starting to figure out a few powers. (sequel to Conception Point)





	1. Chapter 1

“Why?” Caleb asked.

“Because,” his father replied, “your mother would expect it, and she will be home soon.” 

The boy considered this and nodded, holding out his arms. Strange picked up his son and set him on the side of the kitchen sink, helping the child wet his blue-stained hands and scrub them with soap. The boy didn’t squirm or fight the cleaning process, but patiently did his best to help until his father had rinsed away the tinted suds and begun to dry his hands with a towel.

“Mama likes clean,” Caleb announced. This was something he understood now.

“Yes she does,” Strange agreed. “Mother especially likes a clean Caleb.”

The boy smiled. “Mama likes clean _everything._ ”

“Very possibly,” Strange nodded. “Although it is far easier to clean you than it would be to clean Desmond.”

This ludicrous image made Caleb giggle briefly, and he allowed his father to lower him back to the floor. “Desmond cleans NO water.”

“Indeed.” Strange looked indulgently at his son. “Now, what _else_ needs to be cleaned?”

Caleb shot a guilty look at the watercolor mess on the linoleum. “Ground?”

“Floor,” his father amended gently. “We need to wipe up the watercolors and pick up the papers. Which is your art today?”

Caleb reached for a damp masterpiece with streaks of green and orange amid the blue background and Strange studied it for a moment. As abstract art went, it was rather good, he thought, and carefully pinned it to the refrigerator, using magnets to display it. “Excellent composition. Does it have a name?”

“Prox’ma,” Caleb told his father.

“Proxima?”

The boy nodded. Strange took in the child’s slightly solemn expression. He was a slender boy with thick and glossy black hair and a striking gaze with his heterochromatic eyes: one green, the other grey. The fact that his picture was named for the closest solar system to Earth came as no surprise to Strange in the least.

His son had vision.

“Very good,” Strange murmured. “Now let’s get the mop—” He broke off, seeing his son tense up, and cock his head. “What is it, Caleb?”

“Mama,” the boy murmured, his voice a little frightened. “Fighting.”

*** *** ***

Sydney thought it was absolutely typical. Here she was trying to get a little shopping in before heading home after a busy day filming a promotion piece for the weather buoy out in Holmes Point Bay. All she wanted was to be able to grab some string cheese, pull-ups and bagged lettuce but the robbery was screwing THAT up. She and another shopper were huddled up at the end display of aisle twelve, clustered around a rack of potato chips, not daring to move.

From where Sydney was she could see the two robbers moving from register to register, using one cashier as hostage to empty out the money drawers. They didn’t seem particularly worried. She stared at them, trying to figure out why.

Supers? It was possible but they hadn’t manifested any particular power as such. She looked around the store, noting where the cameras were and wondered if she could make a move without being seen. 

“They’re going to kill us, I _know_ it!” hissed the fussy little man with big eyes behind his thick glasses next to her. Sydney shot him a sidelong look.

“Why would they? We’re not a threat.”

“We’re witnesses,” he persisted. “We can identify them so we have to _die._ ”

“No we don’t,” she automatically replied, feeling annoyed at his pessimism. “I’ve got things to do.” So saying, Sydney began to edge her way into aisle twelve, moving slowly until she was nearly halfway down the lane. From her guess the robbers would finish with the registers and then set off some distraction before moving out through the back of the store through the bay doors and into a waiting vehicle.

Pretty SOP. She concentrated. There were two robbers and probably another out in the car, so the first priority would be those still here in the store. Focusing, Sydney held out her hands and iced up the aisle floor, then moved backwards to try and do the same to the next one. She’d managed to slick up a second aisle when she heard commotion and realized the robbers were coming closer. Sydney looked up and the two men charged towards her. 

The minute their feet hit the ice, however, they skidded forward, their momentum making them glide faster. Sydney dodged, turning to hit the first one with a blast of ice flurries that blinded him; he crashed into the shelf holding cans of beans and tumbled to the ground.

The second one swung the backpack full of money at Sydney and it clipped her across the shoulder. Cursing, she flinched and he took the opportunity to grab her hair, pulling her around. “You!”

It hurt. “Let go!” Sydney ordered him fiercely, struggling. “Whoever _you_ are.”

“Trop Cher. My boss went to jail after your damned rain dance!” the man growled. “Here, have a bullet for that—”

She went de-solid as he fired, fading from his grip as the bullet shattered jars of spaghetti sauce on the opposite shelves. Sydney felt a sting along her ribs, aware that she’d been fractionally slow and thus had been grazed a bit. The pain and anger fused up in her—she re-solidified, ramming a fist into her shooter’s face and breaking his nose with a satisfying ‘crunch.’ He wobbled and slid on the ice, falling heavily.

Damn it. Sydney hastily grabbed her clothes and pulled the jeans and shirt back on, stuffing her underwear into her pockets as someone peered around the aisle. 

“You _killed_ them!” the fussy little man cried out.

“No I didn’t,” Sydney automatically replied in annoyance. “I _stopped_ them.”

“ _And_ you created a falling hazard!” The fussy man gazed down on the length of iced floor with horror magnified through his thick lenses. “This is environmentally unsafe! I could have _injured_ myself here! I’m calling my lawyer!”

Sydney sighed, realizing there was no reasoning with the man. She looked at the robber buried in cans of beans. “Okay, you’re not going to try anything _stupid_ , right?”

“Right,” he assured her in resignation. “Maybe I ought to try hitting Portland next time.”

She bent over the other robber, dabbing at his nose with his shirt. “You took a shot at me; that’s assault with a deadly weapon and attempted murder. Hope your boss appreciates your loyalty.”

The robber snuffled blood, too pained to reply.

The police moved in, but before they could come down the aisle, the fussy man grabbed one by the sleeve and pointed at Sydney. “Arrest her too! She’s _just_ as much of a danger as those thugs! She deliberately entrapped them with this ice!”

“Whoa, whoa—I didn’t entrap anyone!” Sydney protested, feeling matters slipping out of hand. “Weren’t you the guy saying these robbers were going to kill us all?”

“Slander too! My lawyer will hear about this,” the fussy man threatened. “You bet he will or my name isn’t Harold H. Henderson the third!”

“Miss,” one of the officers looked at Sydney with a commiserating glance. “I will have to ask you to come down to the station with us. Mr. Henderson, you too.” 

“I can’t—I have to get home!” Sydney protested, feeling weak. She felt a trickle of blood rolling down her hip under her shirt. “My toddler’s waiting!”

“Well you should have thought of that _before_ you went on a vandalism spree and nearly killed two people!” Harold Henderson snapped, crossing his arms self-righteously.

She was strongly tempted to hit the smug little bastard with a blast of wind and snatch those glasses off his self-satisfied face but a look from the officer giving first aid to the robber stopped her.

“Easy, Mist,” he murmured under his breath to her. “Guy’s a jerk but let’s settle this downtown, okay? You did just fine.”

She slipped a hand under her shirt to touch her ribs and her fingers were bloody when Sydney looked at them. “Yeah, a really _great_ job,” she sighed.

*** *** ***

He spotted her in the hallway of the police station, leaning against a wall and hurried over to her.

“Sydney!” Strange called, setting Caleb down and pulling her into an enfolding hug. “What happened, are you all _right_ . . .” His voice trailed off, dropping into a whisper as he added, “and why aren’t you wearing a brassiere?”

She snickered. “It’s in my pocket. You actually _noticed_ that?”

“I _always_ notice,” he assured her in a soft voice. More loudly he added, “We came as soon as we could. What happened?”

Sydney told him, bending to hug Caleb who clung to her leg, groaning as she did so. “Annnd I got a little, um, injured but I’m fine, really. Caleb sweetie, I’m afraid I can’t pick you up for a little while.”

Strange looked at his wife, sensing the dull pain as an aura rising from her left side. He moved closer, his voice a whisper. “What. _Happened_.”

“It’s a graze; nothing serious. Ixnay on aringscay the kid.”

His look told her they’d be coming back to this particular discussion later but Strange picked up Caleb and followed Sydney to the central desks. After some paperwork she was free to go, and they all went to the parking lot. Caleb climbed into his car seat, letting his mother buckle him in before reaching a small hand to her face.

“It will be okay,” he told her solemnly. 

Sydney kissed his fingers. “Thank you.”

Once in she was in the passenger seat, Strange noted how stiffly she managed the buckle. He said nothing, though, turning the car towards the 520 highway and the Evergreen Point Bridge. After a while he saw Caleb drift off to sleep, and Strange spoke up.  
“How did you get injured?”

“Got grazed by a bullet,” Sydney told him. “As I was phasing out. Just a graze.”

Strange’s long fingers tightened on the wheel. “Were you treated?”

“Yes,” Sydney admitted. “Legally I had to report it but it truly is minor, Stephen. I’m fine.”

He took a deep and calming breath. “I’ll check on that once we get home. My other question is ‘why’ my beloved. _Why_ did he shoot?”

She looked uncomfortable. 

Strange let the silence grow, well-aware of how powerfully it worked in his favor. Finally Sydney sighed. 

“Because he recognized me from our Valentine’s dinner at Cher Trop,” she admitted. “He has some misplaced sense of loyalty to the ringleader of that heist, I guess.”

“You fought him,” Strange pointed out.

“Only defensively,” Sydney cut in. “Yes, I could have just let them take off but when there are guns you can never predict if someone will shoot, and I know what I’m doing in situations like this.”

Strange gave a little grunt, not sure himself if it was in agreement or denial. They were on the bridge now, and the water was choppy and grey far below them.

When he glanced at Sydney’s profile she looked discouraged. Carefully Strange slid his right hand over her left one and she looked at him.

“I worry,” he confessed. “I shall _always_ worry, Sydney Lenore. It’s my prerogative as your husband. On the other hand, you were fighting crime long before we married and yes, you have a great deal of experience with it. I am in the unenviable position of both understanding and regretting that, I suppose.”

“Kind of the way _I_ feel when you’re off battling demons or stopping invasions or getting into mystic battles,” Sydney nodded. “Proud but worried as hell.”

“In a nutshell,” Strange squeezed her fingers. “If he’s held a grudge this long, though, it may be worth looking into who he and his associates are.”

“I can run the question by Jack and the rest of the team,” Sydney nodded. “Although that Harold H. Henderson character may be _just_ as much of a pain as well.”

They arrived home just as the sun set, and Strange carried his son to the porch where Desmond lounged waiting for them. The Splintercat lightly bumped Strange’s lower thigh in affection and followed them all into the house.

Dinner was light, and Strange went to meditate while Sydney gave their son his bath and bedtime story. When she came back into the living room a while later, he allowed himself to slowly come back into awareness as he drifted back down to the floor.

“He wanted more of The Little Prince,” she told him. “And we both like the Fox.”

Strange smiled. He rose up and let Sydney slip into his hug. “Foxes run in the family. Now, I want to see your injury.”

“Upstairs,” she told him. “I need a soak tonight.”

Strange made sure the water was hot, and added a few essential oils to it so the perfume of lavender drifted between the fat candles by the mirror. After peeling off the bandage, he studied the long graze on the left side of her ribcage. “A fraction more to the left and it would have scraped bone,” he sighed. “May I heal it?”

“Please,” Sydney nodded, her tone humble. 

Strange flexed his hands and pressed them ever so gently along the scabbed line; golden light radiated under his touch. Sydney held still, letting him focus on knitting up the layers of skin and accelerating the repair. When he was done, he lightly stroked the length where the damage had been, his touch turning into a caress. “All better,” he murmured gently.

“Thank you,” Sydney smiled, and shifted to step into the hot water. She watched Strange slip out of his clothes and climb in as well, settling at the other end of the big clawfoot tub.

“Caleb _knew_ ,” Strange told his wife as he slid his longer legs under hers in the water. “Even before your text.”

She scooted closer, reaching for the soap. Sydney gave him a thoughtful look. “I’m not surprised, but it’s a little worrisome. I don’t want to scare him or stress him out.”

“Or have him trying to rescue you,” Strange pointed out. “That’s _my_ entitlement in this case. He’s acutely sensitive on a psychic level. I’ve tested him a time or two.”

She looked slightly sad. “I want him to have a _normal_ childhood. I want him to be _happy_ , Stephen.”

“Caleb _is_ happy,” Strange replied, allowing her to lather up his chest, preening a little. “But we both know he shall never be normal, beloved. He has too much of the universe within him.”

She slithered up closer, wrapping her arms around Strange and smirking up at him. “Maybe he needs something to ground him a bit. Maybe a sibling.”


	2. Chapter 2

She’d been thinking about it for a while, actually. Her own childhood had been a lonely, and a brother or sister might have made things a little easier to bear back then. There was no way of knowing for sure, of course, but the thought was a wistful one, and Caleb was growing so quickly. 

Within a year he’d be off on half-days at a selected pre-school, spending more time with other people, getting more independent—all those milestones toddlers go through. While Sydney appreciated the necessity of that, she knew it would leave her feeling slightly melancholy. Working from home had given her time to share with him, and now . . . well, if they were ever going to have another child, it seemed the right moment.

In the bath, she felt Strange tense slightly as one corner of his mouth went up. “Another child . . . the idea has merit, of course. But it’s a serious decision, beloved.”

“I know,” she admitted. “Changes in schedules and diet and doctor’s appointments and tests . . . but on the bright side we already have all the baby furniture.”

“True,” he used the soap and ran it up her arms. “However a pregnancy will incapacitate you from your abilities, and I fret at the idea of you being defenseless when I am gone.”

When his hands slipped to her shoulders and lower, Sydney blinked a little, distracted. “Uh, yes, well things have gone pretty well so far.”

Strange moved his fingers around her breasts and she gave a little purr, feeling much better. He gave a similar sound as her hands slipped under the water and around his thickening erection. “Indeed, although there is someone else to consider in this decision.”

Sydney moved to kiss him, doing so before speaking. “Caleb, yeah. I suppose we can ask him . . . tomorrow. Right _now_ . . .”

Strange gave her a look. A very specific look she’d learned to appreciate. “Right now there are promises to be _kept_ , Sydney Lenore.”

“Mine or yours?” she wanted to know.

“Mine,” he waved a hand and towels levitated off the hooks to drift over to them. “I promised I would attend to you and I most definitely shall.”

There was a tiny possessive streak to Strange that always gave her stomach a bit of a flutter, Sydney realized. He loved her, but more than that he treasured her. When they were alone he gave her his full attention, and since she’d rarely had that before in her life it was heady stuff, particularly when both of them were feeling aroused. Part of it was his upper-class upbringing of course, but another part was his intimate devotion. It had taken her a while to accept that he loved her as much as she did him, but now . . .

He dried her off, wrapped her up and carried her into the bedroom. She gave a token protest, amused as ever by both his strength and determination.

“Are you going to go excruciatingly slow and drive me out of my mind?” Sydney asked with mock-sternness. “Get me to the point where I have to start cursing?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Strange replied, peeling the towel from her as she stretched out on the duvet. “Now lie back and relax, beloved.”

‘Relax’ slowly and relentlessly became more of ‘writhing, slippery tangle of bodies’, but eventually Sydney found that in the blissfully sweet afterglow of several orgasms, yes, she was quite relaxed indeed, puddled up as she was across a lightly snoring Strange who managed to look a little smug even in his sleep.

\--oo00oo—

They were on their way to the Sugar Brothers market, and Sydney glanced into the rearview mirror to catch her son’s gaze. He was in a striped long-sleeve shirt and overalls, playing with his favorite stuffed animal—a woolly mammoth named Pellinor. Caleb smiled at her and she figured it was as good a time to ask the three-year-old as any.

“Caleb, would . . . you like a little brother or sister, sweetie?”

He gave the question serious consideration. “Right now?”

“Ah no,” Sydney assured him, pulling into a parking space and trying to hide her smile. “It takes a while. Almost a year.”

“Oh. Is it at market?”

“No, not here. We get bananas and coffee and apples and sticky buns here, but no babies. There isn’t a stall for babies.” It was hard not to laugh; the idea was sweetly ludicrous.

“ _Could_ be,” Caleb countered, looking a little stubborn now. “Lotsa new ones.”

“Yes, there are lots of new stalls, but I’m pretty sure a baby one isn’t going to be here. You’ll have to trust me on this.”

“We look,” Caleb suggested.

“Okay buddy, we will, but I don’t think there’s one here. Should we get Desmond some fish?”

“Yes,” Caleb agreed. “He want cod.”

Sydney climbed out, undid Caleb’s car seat and they left Pellinor to guard it as Sydney unfolded the stroller. Caleb shook his head, walking next to her as they went to the first stalls. He liked walking, and was good about staying close, so Sydney used the stroller for the groceries now. As they approached the first stalls, Sydney looked around, breathing in the fresh morning air.

“Okay Caleb, where first?” she asked, having a slight suspicion.

“B’nana,” He told her, pulling the stroller forward to the fruit vendor. The roly-poly man behind the display smiled when he saw them approaching.

“Ca-leb! My finestbest cus-to-mer!” he called, his lovely West African accent rolling out. “I saved a really gooood bunch fo’ you!”

Caleb smiled. “Thank, Mister Paul.”

“Oh thank YOU my son, for trusting my choice!” Mister Paul grinned. He ceremoniously handed over a lovely bunch to the little boy, who needed both hands to hold them. Solemnly Caleb set them into the stroller as Sydney handed over payment to Mister Paul.

“He grows so fast,” the vendor sighed. “I ‘member when he was just _little_ , that one.”

“Part of life,” Sydney admitted and they rolled on. She noticed Caleb looking around intently, and figured he was on the search for the mythical baby stall, but they made their way down the lane of tables and awnings, they picked up freshly ground coffee and headed for the apple stall. The little old woman there saw Caleb and gave a little bow. “ज्योति को बच्चा,”  
Caleb smiled. “बुद्धिमानी चाची.” 

Sydney was always a little awed by their exchange. Most of the members of the Sakya Monastery knew Caleb; they’d witnessed his 100th day blessing ceremony, and occasionally Strange took the child along when he went to meditate there. Somewhere along the line Caleb had picked up some basic Nepali and always returned the apple seller’s greeting politely.

She bagged up the gleaming Red Delicious apples and handed them to Caleb with a kind smile. This time she looked up at Sydney and her expression softened even further. “He has far to go, but he is on the right path.”

“Thank you,” Sydney murmured, touched. She handed over the money and the seller took it, adding,  
“Yes.”

“Yes?” Sydney asked, a little puzzled.

The seller gave a soft chuckle. “To the question you are considering, good mother.”

Sydney blushed a little and took her change, feeling that odd mix of perplexed shyness. She understood there were mystic undercurrents everywhere and that the gifted could sense them, but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with at times.

Suddenly Caleb zoomed off, and this was so unexpected that Sydney gaped before steering the stroller after him across the crowded center of the lane. When she reached the other side she found him tugging on the pant leg of a man . . . who was holding a baby.

“Oh boy,” she muttered to herself and hurried over.

“Sure you can, buddy, but you have to be careful. He’s two months old,” the man told Caleb, squatting down to chat. “Just a little guy, see?” The man pulled away a little section of blanket to reveal the sleeping child’s face.

Caleb nodded, and studied the infant carefully. Sydney caught the man’s eye. “Sorry about that. He’s . . . interested in babies at the moment.”

“It’s okay,” the man smiled. “They’re pretty cool.”

“What he do?” Caleb wanted to know, his tone serious. 

The man considered the question. “Well right now, not much. He sleeps, and eats and cries sometimes . . .”

“He poop?”

“Yes, he does that too,” the man chuckled while Sydney cringed. The baby stirred and opened his eyes, blinking a little. Fascinated, Caleb leaned forward, staring. The baby stared back and gave a little coo.

“Happy,” Caleb announced after a moment. “Mike happy.”

“Wow, uh, yeah, his name’s Michael,” the man murmured a little uncertainly.

“He like tummy blow,” Caleb added. “Bye, Mike.” With a little wave Caleb smiled and went over to Sydney, wrapping his arms around her leg. “ _We_ get one.”

The man stared at them both, and Sydney slipped a hand down Caleb’s back, stroking soothingly. “Kids,” she murmured in a vaguely helpless way.

Fortunately the man chose to laugh, and cuddled his son. “Yeah. They’re pretty cool.”

As they walked away, Sydney took a moment to squat down and look Caleb eye to eye. “How did you know his name was Michael?”

“Told me,” Caleb replied. More hopefully he added, “We get?”

“Ah, maybe,” Sydney stalled, amused. “It would take a while, and it could be a _girl_ , honey. You might have a sister instead of a brother.”

Caleb nodded, the issue settled in his three-year old mind. He dutifully walked with Sydney through the rest of the market, happy in his own thoughts for a while, and by the time they made it back to the car, he climbed into the seat, still quiet.

When Sydney did up the buckles, he looked at her. “Mama, you want?”

Taken aback, she nodded. “Ah, yes. I do. But even if we _do_ have a baby, you are my firstborn and I love _you_ very much, Caleb.”

He smiled, and in it, she saw shades of his father in his dimples. He patted her face. “Too.”

\--oo00oo—

Desmond prowled around as Sydney unpacked the groceries, well-aware of the cod. Caleb tried to use the feather stick to distract him, but the Splintercat was focused on the fish, and eventually the child gave up. He wandered into the living room and Sydney knew he was probably looking for his crayons and drawing pad.

He couldn’t write yet, but he could draw—or at least seemed happy to try. Sydney thought her son’s work did show promise in color choice if not composition, and Caleb rarely tried to eat the wax anymore. She began dicing part of the cod when the toddler came back with his paper and plunked himself on the floor, humming and coloring.

“What are you drawing this time, sweetie?”

“Baby,” came the distracted reply.

“The one we saw?” She tried to move but Desmond kept weaving around, threatening to trip her. In exasperation Sydney shoved the Splintercat with one shin to set his bowl down.

“Nope,” Caleb told her, one chubby hand holding the paper down while he drew pink circles on the lined paper. “My baby us.”

“Oookay,” Sydney fought a giggle. Apparently her son had grasped the idea and was now fully committed to it. She wondered about texting Strange that they officially had permission to go off birth control and decided it could wait: she wanted to see his face.

After rinsing her hands Sydney went out the front door and down the drive for the mailbox, collecting it as the mail truck moved on down the road. Only a few pieces this time—a flyer for Scenery Beanery; a statement from the bank; a sample of detergent . . . 

And a thick envelope addressed to her from the attorney firm of Barstow and Brim.


	3. Chapter 3

Strange gathered Caleb up and looked at him. “Where is your mother?” he asked, strolling up the walkway to the porch. In the late afternoon the chilly breeze blew fallen leaves across the grass while up above the gibbous moon was visible over the tops of the trees. Freed from guard duty, Desmond rubbed a greeting against Strange’s pant leg and slunk off across the yard.

“House,” Caleb replied, adding. “When we get baby?”

Taken aback, Strange murmured, “Well, in nine months, if all goes well. Is this something you want?”

Caleb nodded. “Yep. And we go got bananas. And cloffee.”

“I see,” Strange hefted his son. “A busy day then. Did you see Ms Birenda at the apple stall?”

Caleb nodded. “Yep. And Mister Paul.”

As Strange started to carry Caleb up the porch steps he felt the faint vibration of mystic energy—a sharp vibration; a sour note tainted with darkness. Both he and his son looked up at the same time to see a long coil of glittering black drop from the overhang of the roof.

Strange spun, moving them both out of the way as the Vampire Viper hit the porch boards with a light ‘thud.’ The serpent rose up, long crimson fangs visible in the light of the setting sun, weaving with a hunter’s intent.

Before Strange could cast a spell and banish it, Caleb clapped his hands.

Instantly the startled snake puffed up like a long shiny black latex balloon and burst, scattering into shiny sable pebbles that rattled lightly over the porch.

Strange stared for a moment at them, and then turned to look at Caleb. “That was . . . impressive.”

Caleb shook his head dismissively, pointing at the little rocks. “No bite.”

“Certainly not now,” Strange agreed, feeling a sense of pride. “Did you figure this out yourself?”

Shy now, Caleb buried his face against his father’s shoulder giggling a little. It was all the answer Strange was going to get, and he laughed himself, rubbing the little boy’s back lightly. 

Transfiguration. More than that, direct and disarming transfiguration. Caleb had seen the threat and neutralized it into something harmless, putting the life force of the creature into an inert form. It was an impressive bit of strategy and generally the sort of magic well above the capacity of a three year old. Frankly Strange didn’t think a _twenty_ -three year old mystic could have managed it with such aplomb.

Strange decided he wouldn’t share this with Sydney just yet: chances were good the mere word ‘snake’ would prevent her from hearing the rest of the story. He moved up the steps with Caleb kicking some of the pebbles out of the way. “I don’t think we should tell your mother, okay?”

“Yep,” Caleb agreed blandly. “Mama shhhhh.”

Once inside Strange set the child down and looked for Sydney, finding her in her office, looking through a sheaf of papers and muttering under her breath.

“I’m being sued!” she groused at him. “Can you believe it? I’m being cited as ‘recklessly endangering the shopping public’ and ‘maliciously creating hazards to the average citizen!’ It’s _bullshit_!”

“I concur,” Strange took the papers she held out to him and rested one hand on her shoulder, rubbing it lightly. “It’s meritless, beloved.”

“Apparently Harold H. Henderson thinks I’m _dangerous_ ,” Sydney grumbled. “Ohh, you don’t know how much I want to kick his twerpy little _ass_ right now!”

“I _have_ an inkling,” Strange told her dryly, “although doing so would be detrimental to matters at hand and only give him more ammunition to his case. Perhaps it would be wise to contact our attorney about this.”

“We have an attorney?” Sydney blurted in surprise.

“We do,” Strange replied absently, looking over the papers. “Malcolm St. Croix, out of Jennifer Walter’s practice in Los Angeles. We can get in touch with him in the morning and have this matter sorted out. I thought I mentioned him; he has my will and all our property deeds on file.”

Sydney rubbed her eyes. “You may have told me and I forgot. I’m sorry, my brain is a bit mushy right now.”

“It’s understandable,” Strange assured her. “Now what would you like for dinner?”

“Curry,” came the grateful reply. “At Patel’s, pretty please.”

Patel’s was off of 105th in Bellevue Square. The restaurant-one of their favorites- was small but full, and the lovely scent of cumin and peppers drifted in the air as Strange held the door for his family. Caleb held his father’s hand and looked around expectantly.

“Naan,” he crowed approvingly.

Strange chuckled. Rami, their favorite waiter spied them and came over, smiling.

“Table for three,” he informed them, winking at Caleb. “Good to see you again!”

He led them to one of the booths and brought a booster for Caleb, who climbed into it as his parents settled in. Strange didn’t need to glance at the menu and suspected neither Sydney nor Caleb would either: they had well-established favorites by now.

“What shall we have?” he asked as a formality.

“Naan,” Caleb replied seriously. 

Sydney rolled her eyes. “He _is_ a creature of habit, isn’t he? I’ll have the butter chicken please.”

“Very well,” Strange murmured. When Rami returned, Strange relayed the orders, adding, “and tikki masala for me, thank you.”

When Rami headed for the kitchen, Caleb patted the table with his hands and began to sing a song. Strange recognized the tune as ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ but apparently Caleb had changed the lyrics to ‘Naan, naan, naan, naan,’ for the entire song. Strange caught Sydney’s eye across the table and they both fought from laughing. When the child finished, his father caught his hands to prevent an encore.

“Very nice,” he told Caleb. “I’m sure the Patels appreciate your enthusiasm but for now we need to be patient.”

Caleb gave a huge sigh, once again making his mother smother a chuckle. When he looked at her, she smiled.  
“Rami will be back soon with . . .”

“Naan!” came the wiggly response.

Strange gazed at the two of them, quiet joy filling his thoughts. He never thought he’d have this, never thought he even wanted this until it happened. He’d been alone for so many years, cut off from other people by his own hubris, and later by the solemn vocation of his destiny. Strange had assumed being Sorcerer Supreme meant passing up the normality of a human life.

Never was he so grateful to be wrong. These moments with his family truly did keep him humble and grateful and grounded. Having someone to talk to and hold at the end of the day fed his heart; having someone to nurture and raise fed his soul. They were a part of him that gave him strength, and he acknowledged this to himself every day.

“Are you all right?” Sydney asked, breaking him from his reverie.

Strange nodded. “Very much so,” he assured her.

When the food arrived they ate. Caleb happily gnawed around the rim of his flatbread as his parents savored their own dinners. Strange had just put a forkful into his mouth when he felt the flicker of reality shift.

Everything around him froze: the other diners, the lighting, even the hum of the fans.

Everything but Caleb, who looked up alertly from his gummy flatbread. “What that?”

“I don’t know,” Strange admitted, carefully glancing around. It was extremely unsettling to see Sydney with a glass of water to her lips, completely still. “Caleb, take my hand.”

The child reached his fingers across the table, looking around as well. “Don’t like.”

“I don’t either,” his father agreed aware of the warm sticky hand in his. “Can you be a good boy and do exactly what I say?”

Caleb nodded, looking a little scared now. Strange murmured under his breath and his clothing shifted, becoming the blue tunic, trousers and cape of his vocation. He stood, and pulled Caleb to straddle his left hip.

A clicking sound filled the air, discordant and almost painful. Strange looked up just as the first of the pale creatures passed through the ceiling and circled overhead. The first was followed by dozens more, all of them joining in the lazy ring now forming around Patel’s dining room. Bats, Strange realized.

Bone bats. 

Caleb gave a little growl. “Not nice!” he told his father.

“You’re right; they aren’t,” Strange agreed. A single bone bat had little psychic energy, but in a swarm they had enough to freeze a section of time for as long as it took them to feed. They didn’t feed insects or blood however, but life energy, and given how crowded the restaurant was, it would be a feast that would leave everyone feeling sick and drained.

More of a nuisance than a true threat, but something nagged at his thoughts even as Strange set his son down.

_What drew them here?_

Setting that aside for later consideration, he concentrated.

“By the Chains of Krakkan,” Strange waved his hands, and instantly an immense silvery web formed around the circling swarm, netting them in. The bats squealed in tones high enough to melt ear wax but once they were caught the webbing glowed and popped out of existence, taking the bats with them. It was neatly done, and Strange was pleased at how quickly he’d gotten rid of their threat. He looked up and around the ceiling for any stragglers. None. “All right, that’s over--”

Caleb shook his head, his attention focused on the front window of the restaurant. “No,” he warned his father in a wavery voice. “Bigger. Coming.”

There was nothing visible there, and anyone else might have doubted or ignored a three-year old.

Strange, however, took Caleb’s hand and listened.

There it was. Something rumbled. Something strong enough, large enough that he felt the approach all the way through the soles his boots.

He looked at Caleb, who was pale but steady, green/grey eyes blinking.

“Hide under the table,” he told his son. “Stay by your mother, Caleb. Can you please _do_ that?”

Wordlessly the child nodded. 

“Now?”

Caleb let go of his father’s hand. “’kay, but I get Desmond.”

Confused, Strange blinked and a second later the Splintercat appeared, apparently mid-grooming. He looked up from his paw and his whiskers twirled as he caught the scent of bone bat. Caleb scooted under the booth table, vanishing from sight.

And right before the rhino-sized queen bat slammed through the plate glass window, Strange was quite proud of his son.


	4. Chapter 4

The breaking glass was soundless, and the fragments flew out, drifting like clear snowflakes across the restaurant. Strange knew instinctively that all this was happening on the undercurrent of real time, and that if he was quick enough, it wouldn’t have a chance to catch up to Earth reality.

Nevertheless it was still a damned dramatic entrance. The giant queen soared in, wings wide, fangs barred. Strange twisted his hands, focusing mystical energy to hold the monster back, and the ribbons of runes caught on the edges of her outstretched bones.

Desmond sprang before Strange could stop him, leaping straight at the monster’s face, his own forehead lowered to ram it hard. The Splintercat hit the bat right between its fangs. The forward momentum snapped the monster’s head back, its mouth opening wide, and tumbling, Desmond caught himself on the lower jaw, hanging there by his front paws.

It was both ludicrous and dangerous; the queen bat tried to snap her jaw shut but Desmond swung, bringing his hind feet up to scratch at the beast’s underbelly. She didn’t have one, and his back claws raked against the monster’s rib cage instead. Strange shifted one hand to send a bolt of energy into the nearest empty eye socket.

The blast flared into sparkles within the niche. The queen gave a shriek that vibrated through the air and made Strange queasy. Desmond yowled, equally irritated, and quickly climbed his way into the queen’s open maw, slipping inside her, much to Strange’s consternation. He watched as the queen began to rock unsteadily, the beat of her wings making a counterpoint to Desmond’s prowling down through her ribcage. 

The Splintercat erupted into a snarling whirlwind of rage, lashing out against the bones encasing him, making the queen lurch about. Strange gestured again, locking the queen in the air amid glowing sigils as Desmond’s tantrum ended in an explosion of cracking bone and ivory fragments. Startled, Strange released the spell. The queen gave one dying squeal before the rest of her shattered under the internal assault, her bones rattling down like Legos onto the thin carpet of Patel’s restaurant.

Desmond landed on his feet with a heavy thump, looking around for another fight. Seeing none, he swatted a loose bone out of his way and stalked towards Strange proudly accepting a grateful pat from the Sorcerer Supreme. “Well _done_ ,” Strange told him, amused and impressed.

He heard Caleb crawl out from under the table and turned to see his son look at the scattered bones. The boy shook his head.

“Nope, nope. Bones go.”

Strange sensed reality was about to shift around them, so he waved a hand at the floor. “The Winds of Watoomb sweep this away!”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Caleb wave his hands as well, and the little curls of bright blue energy that darted out of his chubby fingertips glowed lightly. The bones rattled off into another dimension, gusted away as reality flickered around them, time picking up again at its normal pace with no bones, no broken glass. Quickly Strange shifted his appearance back to civilian wear and turned to the booth.

Sydney looked over her glass of water at him, slightly confused. “Stephen?”

“Beloved,” he murmured brightly and sat down again. Caleb sauntered over and held up his arms to be lifted into his booster seat. In one little hand he held something long and pointed.

“We okay now,” he told her importantly. “Here.”

Sydney held her hand out and Caleb dropped the fang into it.

She turned her gaze to Strange, who gave her a bland smile.

 _“Stephen_?” this time it was more of a warning than a question.

He stirred his meal with a fork for a moment before replying. “Nothing to worry about . . . just a little visit from some, ah, bone bats.”

She held up the fang with two fingers and would have said something but just then Strange felt a bump against his leg under the table.

Desmond.

Caleb laughed. “Naan!”

\--oo00oo—

Once they’d bathed Caleb, read him his chapter of Amelia Bedelia and put him to bed, Sydney rounded on Strange, demanding the whole story. He led her outside onto the porch into the moonlight, subtly kicking a few dark pebbles out of the way.

“A swarm of bone bats appeared in Patel’s,” Strange began and then paused consideringly. “Would that be a swarm or colony?”

“If they were bone it should be a _rattle_ of bone bats,” Sydney offered wryly, “but that’s not the point. Why didn’t I or the other customers see them?”

“Because they slow time and move between the seconds,” Strange replied. “It’s their modus operandi. They feed on energy, and sap it from warm-blooded life sources. Given the number of them, it would have ended up making it look like a mass food poisoning outbreak once they were through.”

“I thought . . . I thought bats were smaller,” Sydney countered, leaning against him. “Like bird-sized. That fang is huge.”

“Yes, well this time there was . . . a queen. They’re larger,” he confessed. “And before you ask, I’m not yet sure why they attacked. They’re drawn to concentrations of mystic energy, and while Caleb and I have auras, even combined it shouldn’t be enough to attract that many all at once.”

Sydney frowned. “An attack.”

“Possibly,” Strange agreed. “Although by whom or what I have no idea yet. I need to look into it.”

“Are we safe for tonight?” She asked, looking fierce and ready to fight. It was in fact a good look on Sydney, and Strange felt a surge of arousal at her little scowl, particularly in the glow of the moonlight.

“For tonight yes,” came his assurance. “I’ve reinforced the wards around the house, and we have Desmond prowling about so . . .” Strange slid his arm around Sydney, splaying one large elegant hand against her ass.

She shot him a sidelong glance. “You are copping a feel, Doctor Strange.”

“Am I?”

“You’d better be,” Sydney smirked, relaxing as she moved closer to him. “Otherwise I have a large, lecherous spider on my butt.”

“In this house you never know,” Strange pointed out, but one corner of his mouth went up, shifting into a private smile as she pressed up against him and slid her hands over his ass. One of his wife’s charms, he decided, was her refreshingly direct sensuality. Her wholehearted delight in lovemaking never failed to entice him. Strange once again counted himself as lucky as he tipped his head to kiss her.

When they came up to breathe, she snickered. “So I guess you heard: Caleb’s a go on the baby issue.”

“I did,” Strange replied, nuzzling Sydney’s cheek. “And I concur, beloved. Another child would be a joyous endeavor.”

“Mmmm, so it’s agreed,” she tipped her head to give him better access to her neck. “Lucky for us we know how to get started on this.”

He laughed, the low rumble rising out of his chest even as her hands tightened on his rump. “That we _do_.”

There was a sparkle to the night, which was crisp now, and the silvery moonlight gave everything a slight glow—from the leaf-covered grass of the front yard to the long sharp shadows of the trees. Something ethereal lent an edge of chill in the air: 

Autumn.

Sydney seemed to feel the charm as well; she slithered out of his grasp and took his hand, tugging him to follow her down the porch steps and around the house to the back yard, chuckling the entire time.

“I know just the place,” she whispered to him, her voice playful. “Bet you do too.”

He did. When they’d begun clearing out the back yard shortly after Caleb’s birth, the herb garden Strange had designed had been put in, as had a swing set, but the nicest addition had been the little gazebo off on the most northern point of the property. The quiet little spot was ideal for meditation and had been built expressly for that purpose in fact.

Now Sydney stood on the bottom step of the gazebo and dared Strange with a smirk. “Sooo . . . shall we?”

As if there was any question. Strange twisted his fingers and her blouse unbuttoned itself, slipping down her shoulders as she giggled.

“Oh no, tonight I get to do _you_ , sorcerer,” Sydney told him, pulling his hand once more. They stepped up into the gazebo and Strange was glad the wooden floorboards had heavy rugs over them. Sydney cupped his face, her thumbs against the edges of his goatee as she nipped his lower lip. “Yes?”

“Yes,” he replied, his voice a little raspy. Part of the sweet thrill in being married to this woman was how well she knew him now. His quirks and foibles, his moods and mannerisms . . . and his erotic preferences. Strange had never been in a relationship long enough before for anyone to learn those, and now that this woman _had_ . . .

The lighting was dim, with the moonlight out beyond the edges of the gazebo, but there was enough to see as Sydney reached for him, her fingers plucking at his dress shirt buttons.

“I want to see you,” she crooned, echoing his words on their first night of lovemaking. “Lay you bare and then just . . . lay you, Stephen.”

She stripped him slowly, running her cool fingers along his skin, occasionally letting her nails scrape lightly, making him suppress a shudder. Up along his collarbone; down the carved hollow of his hip; back down the slope of his spine to tease one buttock. The chill of the air dueled with the heat of his lust; by the time Sydney’s fingers curled around the heavy shaft of his prick, Strange felt himself on the edge of the night.

“Niiice,” Sydney sighed as she caressed him. “I’d say you like me.”

“I _adore_ you,” Strange corrected her, feeling himself throb in her grip.

She chuckled, and pressed closer, caressing him. “Shhhh.”

Sydney was sweetly ruthless, and Strange loved her for it, for the way her hands toyed with his cock, the way she kissed and nipped him, working her way down until after a while she was on her knees tormenting him with her mouth as well.

He couldn’t think or concentrate on anything as the heat deep between his hips flared and Strange felt his breathing grow rough and quick as his cock slid in and out of her warm wet mouth. After a few more luscious moments, he pressed a hand to Sydney’s shoulder and she reluctantly stopped, smiling as she gave a loving last lick to the shaft bobbing in front of her face.

“Beloved . . .” Strange murmured, helping her to her feet, pulling her into his arms. The feel of her warm frame sent another shiver through him.

Sydney phased out and back, her clothing puddling up at her feet. Strange caught her, lifting Sydney until her ass rested on the railing of the gazebo. Eagerly she parted her legs, sliding a hand down to touch herself. He drew in a sharp breath, the image searing into his brain.

So brazen and sensual; so open with her own appetites. This fascinated him, Strange knew. And she did too, smiling as she parted her thighs wider, purring happily. “I want you _here_ ,” she growled. “Deep.”

Her free hand curled around him, guiding him slickly, and he rocked forward, driving himself into her in a slow thrust.

Sydney cried out, her pleasured tone nearly undoing him. She cupped one hand around his neck and kept stroking herself with the other. The combination of that vision and the sweet, sweet heat of her body drove him deeper. Madly they rocked together on the rail of the gazebo, the sound of their growls and panting breath drifting amid the sound of the wind in the evergreens around them.

Finally Strange could hold out no longer and kissed Sydney hard as he came, searing pulse after pulse surging through him. She clung to him and a moment later shuddered, her nails digging into his shoulders. Around them, thunder made the gazebo shudder as, exhausted, they slumped against each other.

He shifted after a moment, pulling Sydney down to the heavy rug, keeping his arms around her as they both caught their breath. She pressed herself against his side, and he felt her chuckle against his ribs.

“What amuses you, oh vixen of the night?” Strange wanted to know, nuzzling her hair and kissing her.

“Us,” she admitted. “The two of us are _total_ horndogs.”

“Ah,” he sighed, smiling. “Was that ever in _doubt_?”


	5. Chapter 5

Malcolm St. Croix proved to be a tall and lean young man with long dark hair and a quiet demeanor. He clearly had Native American ancestry and greeted Sydney with a cool handshake when she answered the front door.

“Mrs. Strange, good to meet you. Stephen sent over the paperwork on the lawsuit and I have a few questions to ask before I talk to Mr. Henderson’s representative,” St. Croix murmured. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, that’s fine. Please come in,” Sydney told him, shifting Caleb from her hip to set him down. He looked up at the lawyer for a long moment.

“Good guy,” the boy announced and headed off into the living room. Sydney gave St. Croix a flustered look, but the lawyer was smiling.

“Nice to be considered one.”

Sydney chuckled a little herself. “He’s three and . . . opinionated.”

“Aren’t they all?” St. Croix admitted. “My girl Chana feels everyone’s entitled to her views and she’s _barely_ in first grade.”

That admission broke the ice and Sydney led the way into the living room, settling down as St. Croix opened his attaché and pulled out a legal pad. “All right Mrs. Strange—”

“—Sydney, please,” she countered. “Coffee?”

St. Croix accepted and soon they both had steaming mugs while he made notes. “Thank you. All right, the first question, and it’s a big one—are you willing to give up your secret identity, or career as a heroine?”

Sydney spluttered, coughing up coffee for a moment before waving off St. Croix’s concerned look. She managed to set her mug down and managed, “ _What_?”

“It’s really the heart of the matter as far as I can see,” St. Croix told her apologetically. “Mr. Henderson has a long history of litigation, and a good number of his lawsuits in the last decade have been against anyone he deems a threat to society. Unfortunately, his ire seems to be focused on superheroes and villains.”

“But I’m not even in the _business_ anymore!” Sydney pointed out. “My involvement was a fluke!”

“Be that as it may, there were witnesses beyond Mr. Henderson, and he’s sure to make an issue of your identity,” St. Croix told her. “Yours and by extension, your husband’s.”

“Stephen? But he hasn’t done _anything_!” came her protest. “Certainly nothing to Henderson!”

“I know, I know,” St. Croix murmured soothingly. “And in point of fact very few of his lawsuits have ever amounted to anything; Seattle is pretty supportive of our hometown team of supers. But,” he added warningly, “every case is different, and public opinion does shift now and again. It’s better to be prepared for whatever his attorney may try, and he may want to know if you’re willing to either retire permanently, or let everyone know you’re Mist.”

She scowled, staring at her coffee mug. It was a heavy blue one, with _Coffee: A celestial bean_ emblazoned on it, and Sydney remembered receiving it as a birthday present two years earlier. Her first gift from Caleb, in fact, although it was clear Stephen had picked it out and wrapped it of course.

“Those are both shitty options,” she pointed out. “If I retire, then that means I can’t use my powers even if they could save a life, which morally I can’t do, but giving up what little anonymity I still have means I’m letting anyone with a grudge against Stephen or me make us into targets. Isn’t there another option here?”

St. Croix gave a half-smile. “Sure. Henderson could drop his suit, for one. The judge could decide that forcing you to choose would be against your rights and the public’s best interest. In any case, it’s not something you need to decide right now—as I said, it’s something that may be proposed when I meet with Henderson’s lawyer.”

Sydney nodded, still a bit disgruntled. Caleb wandered in, dragging Pellinor with him and flopped down on the rug, singing a little to himself.

“So I’d like to hear what happened at the market in your own words,” St. Croix said quietly. “I have the police report but it’s not the whole story, I’m sure.”

Sighing, Sydney told him everything she could remember from the minute she pulled into the parking lot until when Strange and Caleb picked her up at the police station. St. Croix took notes, interrupting her softly for points of clarification during her recitation, and Sydney appreciated how thorough he was.

“So you and Mr. Henderson were the only customers?” he frowned. “That’s kind of . . . unusual.”

“Yeah?” Sydney asked.

“Well sure—four-thirty to six is usually a prime time for dinner shoppers,” St. Croix pointed out. “People making quick stop for ingredients or nabbing frozen meals. It just strikes me as a little odd.”

She nodded, considering it. “You’re right. I didn’t think about that.”

St. Croix shrugged. “It could mean nothing except you two were caught in a lull. Let’s go on.”

When Sydney finished, she felt a sense of mingled hope and exasperation since St. Croix’s expression gave nothing away. He looked up at her. “What about S.M.A.S.H.?”

Shit.

Sydney gave a discouraged sigh. “That was _years_ ago; I was cleared. I haven’t heard anything from them in a long time.”

Seattle Mothers Against Stupid Heroines had formed shortly after she’d had started working with the team, Sydney remembered, mostly in response to a blundered attempt on her part to stop a teenager from jumping off a ledge. Sydney had sent a gust of wind to slow the girl’s descent, but had ended up missing, and let the girl fall on her instead. She’d come out of it all right, but the girl ended up with a concussion and a broken leg. Oddly the girl—Shelley—was grateful and told her so, but her mother had been the one to create the group.

“They _have_ sort of faded out, mostly because of the good publicity your team has built up over the years,” St. Croix replied, breaking into Sydney’s glum memories. “But unfortunately they _are_ on record as opposing you specifically. If Henderson’s lawyers are good, they’ll bring S.M.A.S.H. up.”

“Great. As I said, I haven’t heard anything about them in ages, though.”

“They’ve probably moved on to other things,” St. Croix agreed, “but I’ll check and see if any of them are still active. Any other issues or people in your past you can think of who might help Henderson’s cause at this point?”

“Well there was the time when Batroc showed up and did this weird . . . flirting thing with me,” Sydney admitted, waving a dismissing hand. “The rest of the team ragged on me about that for ages. Jerks.”

St. Croix hid a smirk. “Batroc?”

“Yeah. He got away but we caught up with the crime boss who hired him. And he only flirted because I spoke French,” Sydney added defensively, feeling her face grow hot. “Seriously, it was no big deal.”

She didn’t add that Batroc’s accent reminded her of Pepe LePew, or that he’d tried to talk her into running away with him for a life of “crime and diamonds.” For months the team would mimic his accent and left rhinestones in her car or bedazzled onto her costume.

“Being a hero or heroine does have its drawbacks,” St. Croix agreed. “Still, I think we can rule him out. If you think of anything more please call or text me. I’ll do the same. In the meantime I’d like to work out some sort of settlement if possible.”

“Fair enough,” Sydney agreed. Caleb was sound asleep on the rug, curled up around his stuffed mastodon, looking angelic. After Sydney had seen the lawyer out, she came back and scooped her son up, feeling him settle against her shoulder without even waking. As she carried him up to his room, he murmured in his sleep, and Sydney felt a surge of love for him.

He was one of the _best_ things that had ever happened to her, she knew. This dear little soul who’d wanted her to be his mother before he’d even been conceived was wise and sweet and funny and bright. There were times when Sydney could see how he resembled Stephen; the quick dimples, the way of cocking his head. Other times she knew Caleb had gotten her stubbornness and love of singing. 

Her son had made her a better person, Sydney knew. These past few years had given her more patience and joy than the entire decade before it, and while Stephen’s love was a large part of that, Caleb was the rest of it. Carefully she set him onto his toddler bed and stepped out, comforted by the simple act of . . . well, _being_ his mother.

Once she was back downstairs, Sydney took all the weather instrument readings and dutifully sent the information to all the appropriate places, amused that the only people who ever sent a message back were the fishing fleet trawlers. She spent the next twenty minutes writing up the tide times and finally closed up shop when she heard Caleb on the baby monitor.

“Gate, mama,” he requested.

“Coming.” She and Stephen had set a charmed gate at the top of the stairs that only allowed grownups to pass through it. This safety measure kept Caleb from falling down the circular stairs, but he was getting more coordinated and soon that measure wouldn’t be needed, Sydney knew.

_Until I’m pregnant again,_ she thought cheerfully as she headed up. Caleb waited for her and smiled. 

“Go down?” he asked.

She hesitated, but he looked so earnest that she agreed.

“Okay bud, but carefully, you hear me?”

“Care-flee,” Caleb agreed as she lifted him over and set him on the first stair. He wrapped his hands around the first baluster and began negotiating his way down the first step, all serious concentration. Sydney followed behind, hovering because she couldn’t help herself. 

Caleb was down a third of the way, moving with more confidence when Desmond decided to dart up the stairs and meet him. Given that he and the child weighed about the same amount, the collision made both of them wobble a bit. Exasperated, Sydney tried to shift around the Splintercat, but for a moment they simply danced on the step, each move mirrored. That was when Caleb slipped.

He tumbled forward down the wrought iron, giving a yelp as he fell and kept falling. Sydney didn’t hesitate. She phased out, dropping through the stairs and solidifying just below Caleb, catching him before he’d gone any further than two steps down, her body crouched on the risers. Her son clutched her, fright making him hiccup as he cried, his wails enough to make a worried Desmond yowl in sympathy. Sydney did her best to soothe him as they huddled together in the middle of the spiral staircase and that was where Strange found them ten minutes later.

He climbed to reach them; Caleb lifted a teary face up, his hiccups as strong as ever. “Papa! Desmond BAD!”

“Oh?”

Sydney gave him a wry look. “He bumped into our son who was going down the stairs.”

“Ah. And you’re naked because . . . ?”

“When I falled, Mama saved me,” Caleb explained.

“Mama needs to talk to Professor Buttermiller about getting some temporal static underwear,” Sydney sighed. “I can’t wear the costume under my clothing _all_ the time and this is getting embarrassing.”

Strange chuckled, and came to pick up Caleb. “Oh I don’t know—at the moment it’s very Duchamp of you, Beloved.”

She made a face and slipped around him climb up and collect her clothing, scooting into the nearest room to re-dress. As she did so, Sydney heard Strange talking to their son soothingly.

“Desmond didn’t know he would knock you down, Caleb. It was not intentional.”

“Yes, but . . .” came Caleb’s little protest. “He needs careful too, Papa.”

“True,” Strange agreed. “Shall we go find him and see if the two of you can be friends?”

“Yes,” Caleb replied. “I will esplain to him and give him fish.”

She heard Strange’s chuckle again. “Excellent plan. Tuna or salmon?”

“Salmon,” Caleb was firm in his response. “So he ‘members better.”

“And how do you know he prefers salmon, child?”

“He told me. Desmond tells me _lots_ when I look in his head.”

Sydney hurried to the doorway in time to catch her husband’s concerned gaze moving from Caleb to her at this unexpected development.


	6. Chapter 6

Sydney looked at papers St. Croix handed her. “No settlement?”

The lawyer shook his head. “Henderson wants a trial but I think we can nip it in the bud with some research. I’ve got a detective looking into things and uncovered a few already including CASH.”

“Cash?” Sydney arched an eyebrow.

“Citizens Against Super Heroes,” St. Croix explained. “A very litigious group determined to get compensation where they can. Henderson has a very quiet connection to them that he’s been trying to hide. CASH has affiliates in nearly every city that has supers and some are more vocal than others.”

“The question is, have any been successful?” Sydney wanted to know, feeling a little relief at St. Croix’s confident tone.

“One. The case involved the destruction of an oil rig out in Port Arthur about fifteen years back, before supers were better known. Judge ruled for the guy who lost his house when the rig fell on it during a battle,” St. Croix admitted. “Frankly the super was more than willing to pay up since he had the money and wanted the goodwill.”

Sydney winced. “We’re comfortable but not rich, as I’m sure you’re aware,” she reminded St. Croix. “If Henderson’s looking for money he’s not going to get much.”

“I think Henderson’s motivation is more personal,” the lawyer replied quietly. “His legal representation is a little shady, and I was surprised at how quickly the paperwork was filed.”

Sydney looked up. “So you’re saying—off the record—that there’s something weird about all this?”

St. Croix smiled. “Let’s say there’s more than meets the eye. In the meantime, we’ll wait for my detective’s report before we do anything else. Waiting’s a good move on our part.”

“Okay,” Sydney sighed. “Although patience isn’t my greatest strength here.”

“Mine either,” St. Croix admitted, “But I have faith in Daytona’s ability to sniff out the truth, and once we do, things might look very different.” 

Sydney saw the lawyer out and was still a little lost in thought when Caleb toddled over to her and wrapped his arms around her leg. She patted his head and smiled. “Doing okay?”

He didn’t say anything, but when her son tipped his face up, she noted he looked pale and his eyes were a little glassy. “Honey?”

Caleb gave a sigh when she picked him up. When she slipped a hand to the back of his neck the skin there was hot. “Oh boy, I think you’re sick, sweetie.”

He nodded soberly and laid his head on her shoulder. “My head is squeezy,” he told her in a little murmur.

A prickle of panic flared but Sydney carried him to the living room and sat in the club chair holding him while she dug her cell phone out and called ‘Mina. Although her specialty was OBGYN, Doctor Mayfield had agreed to be their family doctor, particularly given the mystical nature of the Strange family.

“Gracious, bring him in,” Mina told her a few minutes later. “I have patients all afternoon but I’ll fit the two of you in, certainly. Have you taken his temperature?”

“Not yet,” Sydney admitted. 

“Well do that, and give him something to drink. Water’s best, but if he wants juice that’s fine too,” Mina advised and after a few more reassurances Sydney hung up. She kissed Caleb’s warm forehead.

“Okay buddy, let’s see how hot you are.”

The heat strip thermometer read 103, and Sydney felt her worry grow. She tried to give Caleb a bottle but he pushed it way. “Not a baby now!” he grumped. Sydney fished a sports water bottle out from the cupboard—this one had Channel 13’s logo on it—and offered that instead. He accepted it sulkily and managed several swallows while Sydney hunted for her phone, calling Strange.

“Caleb’s got a fever and I’m taking him to Mina,” she told him. “We’re heading out now.”

“What was his temperature? Have you given him anything for it? Does he have any other symptoms?” Strange asked quickly.  
“How long would you estimate he’s been ill?”

“Stephen just calm your . . . self,” Sydney managed patiently. “One oh three and he’s drinking water. Haven’t given him anything until Mina sees him, and he’s not coughing or stuffy at the moment.”

She’d barely finished speaking when a glowing portal opened and Strange stepped through it, looking dusty. He tucked away his phone, knelt down and cupped Caleb’s cheek.

“Not feeling well?” he asked softly.

Caleb shook his head. Strange looked up at Sydney, his expression solemn.

“We can get there quicker—”

“Let’s do it,” Sydney agreed, and followed him through the new portal he created.

Fortunately the hallway of Mayfield’s practice was empty, and only two other patients were in the waiting room. Mrs. Everett the receptionist gave Sydney a nod as she added, “Just a few minutes.”

Sydney found a pair of empty seats. Caleb normally didn’t like being in anyone’s lap too long but he was quiet in her arms, which was worrying. “Doing okay sweetie?”

“Need to go, Mama,” he told her softly. 

Sydney sighed, rising up again to carry him to the bathroom, but as she did so, a small wisp of a pale blue form rose up out of her son floating so quickly she barely caught a glimpse of it moving up through the ceiling. 

She let out a sharp cry. Strange, though, had seen it too, and swiftly his own aura soared up to follow that of his son, leaving his corporeal frame slumped in the waiting room chair. Sydney squeezed Caleb, panicking at the slack little body in her arms. “Caleb? _Caleb_!”

Mrs. Everett darted around the window booth of the waiting room past the alarmed patients and slid her arms around Sydney, pulling her with gentle strength. “This way Mrs. Strange, to room one . . .” Her tone was comforting, and still stunned, Sydney allowed her to drag her to the room. “Lay him on the table, let’s make sure he’s breathing . . .” in a louder voice she called out, “Mina, blue in one!”

Sydney couldn’t let go. She stared down at Caleb’s slack form, his closed eyes and parted lips. “No,” she keened. “Caleb, no, don’t! _Please_ , sweetie!”

Reaching around her, Mrs. Everett pressed a finger on the child’s upper lip. “He’s breathing,” she said, still keeping a calm tone. “Mrs. Strange, let’s check his pulse . . .”

Mina hurried in, moving to the other side of the exam table, her hands moving to the side of Caleb’s neck. “Pulse is steady. What happened?”

“His, his soul just flew away!” Sydney spluttered, blinking away tears, calmer but still alert. “He said he had to go and I thought he meant the bathroom but then he just . . . _died_!”

“Caleb isn’t _dead_ , Sydney,” Mina told her sharply. “He’s breathing and has a heartbeat. I think he’s just separated his body and aura for the moment. Stephen does it all the time. Becky, go make sure everyone in the waiting room is calm and let them know it might be a while. We’ll reschedule anyone who can’t wait. Let’s put a blanket on Caleb here and keep him monitored. Where’s Stephen?”

Sydney tensed. “He’s . . . oh my _God_ \--!”

Darting out of the room she spotted Strange slumped in his chair with one old lady poking his shoulder repeatedly. “Sir? Sir?”

Sydney stepped over to him and gave the woman a sickly smile. “He . . . he has these spells. If we just . . . leave him, he’ll be back with us shortly.”

The little old lady eyed Strange in his Sorcerer garb one last time and gave a curt nod. “Well all right then, but if he starts to snore I’m going to wake him up. I put up with that for thirty-one years from my Harold and I’ll be darned if I’ll have it here in the waiting room.”

Nervously Sydney shifted her husband’s shoulders so his body was a bit more secure, pulled the cloak over him and kissed his nose.

Becky Everett came out and spoke up. “Hi everyone. We’ve had a little emergency, but nothing serious. This is going to set Doctor Mayfield’s schedule back however, so if you’d like to wait that’s fine, but if you need to re-schedule I can help you now.”

Both patients got up and went to the appointment window. Sydney guiltily left Strange in his chair and went back to room one. Caleb lay just as she’d left him, looking as if he was napping. Mina glanced up. “Stephen?”

“He’s . . .” Sydney waved a hand upwards. “Damn it. I’ve seen him do that before but not Caleb. Where ARE they?”

Min shrugged. “I have no idea. They could be right here with us, or out in the wide blue yonder. What we need to do right now though, is make sure their bodies are safe. Caleb is still feverish, so tell me what you can about that. When did it start, what did you notice?”

Sydney told her what she remembered as she pulled a chair over and restlessly let her hands run over Caleb’s arm. The panic was muted now, but just as capable of breaking loose again and Sydney realized how powerful this fear was. As a child she’d been frightened of her mother, but this fear—fear FOR a beloved someone—was much more terrifying.

Mina spoke softly. “Well if he’s never done this before then I suspect Stephen has gone after him. I can’t say with any certainty why it happened although the fever may have triggered it.”

“Why didn’t I notice sooner he was getting sick?” Sydney whimpered. “I’m a shitty mom!”

“Stop that. Fevers can come on very quickly, and from all sorts of causes,” Mina scolded gently. “He didn’t have a cough or runny nose so I don’t think it’s bacterial. Most likely a virus. We’ll sponge him down and I’ll give his body some Ofirmev while we wait.”

Sydney bit her lips and squeezed her eyes tight to stop the tears.


	7. Chapter 7

The florescent lighting made it harder to spot anything, and Strange scanned around the building as quickly as he could, peeking into offices and hallways, trying not to startle anyone any more than he had to. Fortunately Mina’s practice was in a smaller building and it was easy to do. Nothing seemed amiss, and Strange worried.

Had Caleb done this before? Did he know what he’d done? Was he frightened somewhere or too ill to return? A thousand worries crossed Strange’s thoughts and he tried to keep himself from panicking. Easier said than done though, and he muttered to himself as he searched.

“Where would you be, if not with your mother? Where would you . . . ah, the _ducks_ ,” Strange deduced. “You’d go to the fountain the way you and Sydney _always_ do after a visit to Mina because you like the swings and throwing pellets for the ducks.”

Strange let his aura dart off through the walls and towards the park fountain at the end of the block, moving swiftly through strangers and drivers, his concentration elsewhere. He reached the little park and caught sight of a faintly blue glow hovering at the stone lip of the pond at the east side.

Caleb, dabbled his hands in the water. He seemed to sense his father, and Strange slowed to drift near him, working on calm. “There you are. You gave us quite a scare.”

“Too hot,” Caleb explained. “Wanted the water, so I went to it.”

“Ah. Well this water won’t do you any good,” Strange explained as he sat on the lip of the fountain, “because your body is,” he nodded with his head, “back with mama.”

“Yeah,” Caleb agreed, slightly frustrated. “Why the water not water?”

He waved a hand through the little waves and brought it up, as dry as ever.

“Because we are not corporeal.”

Caleb looked confused. 

He tried again. “That is, we—you and I-- are . . . ghosts,” Strange tried to explain. “Our bodies aren’t here right now.”

Caleb reached over for his father’s hand. “But I touch _you_ ,” he pointed out, trying to work through the puzzle. 

Strange smiled. “That’s because we are both ghosts. If mama was here, she wouldn’t be able t see us. We need to go back, sweet boy, because right now she’s very scared. When you left, she didn’t know what happened. We need to go back to our bodies and show her it’s all right.”

“No ducks?” Caleb asked, looking out across the fountain wistfully.

“Maybe after Doctor Mina takes care of you,” Strange offered. It was odd to see Caleb’s aura. Strange was used to seeing enemies in this shadow realm, but having the sunlight flicker through the faint blue glow of his son was disconcerting. Caleb looked up at him and his expression was grave for such a little face.

“Bats come here.”

Taken aback, Strange hesitated but Caleb spoke again. “And sometimes monsters, but I hide.”

“Yes,” Strange spoke slowly. “There are . . . monsters here, which is why you need to be _careful_ , Caleb. It’s not safe, especially when you’re . . . small.”

Caleb nodded. “Yes,” he agreed. “They make me scared.”

This confession came as Caleb scooted closer to his father and leaned against him. “We go back?”

Strange picked his son up, savoring the warm weight even in this ethereal dimension. “Yes, we’ll go back and explain to mama that you didn’t mean to scare her, all right?”

“’K,” Caleb agreed absently. Strange noted the child was staring across the little stone pond, and curious, he looked in the same direction.

Wandering amid all the people was a shaggy, ghostly mammoth, his blue-tinged frame passing through park benches and trash cans. The creature ambled at a leisurely pace towards the water and while most people sensed nothing amiss, the few who were psychically sensitive flinched and shifted away from the lumbering beast without thought.

“Lufagus!” Caleb chortled, “Like Pellinor!”

“Er,” Strange had to admit it did indeed look like the Sesame Street character, although considerably larger and potentially dangerous. “Not quite. It’s definitely time to leave, Caleb.”

Flying back to Mina’s office was a simple matter and when Strange popped his son back into the little body on the table, he waited until Caleb opened his eyes before moving back to the waiting room and sliding into his own form here.

Stirring, he noted one old woman watching him keenly.

“Finally awake, are you?” she grumbled at him. “Your wife’s in room one with your boy if you’re wondering.”

“Ah, thank you,” Strange told her and rose to rejoin his family, trying to appear nonchalant.

Caleb was sitting up looking at Sydney, his lip quivering a little but she was stroking his hair and giving him a crooked smile. 

“Okay, good thing you’re back, sweetie,” she told him, her voice not quite steady.

“Sorry,” Caleb told her. “Still hot.”

“It’s a fever,” Mina told him, “And yes, they make you feel hot, but I’m pretty sure you’re going to be okay. Did you, ah, leave because you were hot?”

Caleb nodded, and Strange gave Mina a meaningful look, tipping his head a little. She shot Sydney a quick smile. “Let me see if I have some juice in the back.”

Outside the examining room, Stephen spoke in a soft voice. “He’s done it before but not because of illness. What do you suspect? A virus?”

“Most likely, but I can’t say for sure,” Mina replied. “From what Sydney told me it came on suspiciously quick. I did a blood draw while he was out, and we’ll see if it tells me anything. In the meantime I’d suggest the two of you take him home and keep him comfortable. You know the drill and please try to keep your son _in_ his body even if it’s warm.”

“Agreed, although easier said than done. It took me a while to figure out how to do it myself, and that was with guidance. It seems I have some mentoring to do.”

“Both of you,” Mina pointed out. “Caleb needs to understand the risks of leaving his body. In the meantime, would he prefer grape or apple juice?”

*** *** *** 

The trip home was quiet, and Strange waited until Caleb had fallen asleep in his car seat to tell Sydney about what had happened at the fountain. She listened and chewed her lower lip in agitation before speaking. “So he has done it before, then.”

“Maybe not on purpose,” Strange pointed out. “It could have been happening while he slept. Any shift of consciousness might trigger it.”

“True. Do you think . . .” she hesitated and seeing his gaze continued, “Do you think he’s trying to go back to his home? That desert plane?”

He hadn’t considered this before and thought it over. The two of them had never spoken to Caleb about his origins per se, agreeing it was a conversation for when he was older, but now . . .

“I don’t think so,” Strange finally replied. “He wasn’t looking for a home, he was looking for a way to cool down, and the fountain was a close, familiar place.”

“Should we tell him? Now?” Sydney asked. “I mean I don’t want to scare Caleb, but I don’t want him facing things he’s not ready for either . . . like his grandmother.”

Strange grimaced. “By the Flames of Faltine, nobody will _ever_ be prepared for that Tengu. But he’s growing fast, and I believe it is time he had some formal training, Beloved, even at this young age. We should do part of it with him.”

That seemed to mollify her fears a bit, and she gave him a fierce smile. “Okay, that’s good. I can live with that.”

“Excellent,” Strange gave her a smile. “First let’s get him well again and then we’ll find him tutors.”

Once home he carried Caleb inside and settled him into his bed, bringing the boy his stuffed mammoth and a few of his favorite toys before coming back to Sydney in the living room. Holding out his arms he felt her slide into his hug and the warmth of it helped him let go of the tension in his shoulders. “Better?”

“A little,” she murmured against his shirt. “Between this and hideous Henderson, arrrgh.”

“We will make dinner, and check on Caleb, and once he’s asleep we will play checkers.”

She looked up, a gleam in her eyes. “Checkers. Hmmm. _Our_ version?”

“Yes,” he intoned. “Oh yes. Prepare to surrender your . . . pride, among other things, my sweet.”

“We’ll see who jumps who,” came her retort. “I have faith in my queens.”

Strange laughed and hugged her a little more tightly.


	8. Chapter 8

Sydney rose slowly from sleep, feeling warm and . . . aroused. She lay on her side, feeling her husband curled up behind her in a wall of warmth. His arm lay draped over her waist and those clever fingertips of his were stroking ever so lightly over the silky curls between her hips.

She fought the urge to wriggle. Strange was very good at teasing and enjoyed it almost as much as she did. Rather than give the game away though, Sydney gave a little sigh and snuggled back against him, doing her best to seem as if she was still asleep.

The move brought her in contact with a part of him that was definitely awake. Up, in fact as it pressed against the cleft of her ass with flattering eagerness. Sydney tried to keep her breathing slow but caught as she was between tickling fingers and throbbing pressure it was difficult not to feel flattered.

And horny. 

“Are you awake?” Strange whispered, in a knowing voice. She fought the urge to giggle and instead made a little moan. 

This in turn made her husband chuckle. “You _are_ ,” he murmured, _“good.”_

Tempted as she was to give a little snore, Sydney gently ground against him instead, and was rewarded by his helpless groan of pleasure. “Minx.”

She smiled to herself, pleased. They’d made love twice the evening before, and Sydney was fairly sure she was well on the way to conception by now but it wouldn’t hurt to be sure with another coupling. Rolling over to face him, she slid her leg up over his hip, her eyes still shut. “So is it true about wizards and their staffs?”

“Sorcerer,” Strange corrected, his free arm sliding around to grip her ass possessively. “We’re _much_ more hands on, you know.”

“Mmmmmm,” came her little purr. “Demonstration?”

And he did, moving his talented fingers over her skin in patterns that spiraled around her nipples and trailed down her stomach. Sydney sighed delightedly. “You have bewitched me . . .”

“I’ll do _more_ than that,” Strange assured her, and did.

\--oo00oo--

“So Mrs. Strange, for privacy’s sake our case is closed to the public,” the judge intoned, “until such time as this matter is settled. Do you have any objections?”

“No,” Sydney assured her. Judge Franklin nodded and shot a sharp look at Henderson, who fidgeted, clearly not happy.

“And you, Mr. Henderson?”

“I DO object,” he snapped. “I want this all out in the open, no cover-ups!”

“Too bad,” the judge told him firmly. “The decision is mine and stands until such time as I reconsider the matter.”

“You’re biased and should be removed from the bench,” Henderson snapped. “I pay taxes, you work for _me_ , you know!”

“Point in fact I work for everyone _in_ this state, sir,” Judge Franklin reminded him dryly. “That includes Mrs. Strange. Please stay civil and you won’t have to meet the bailiffs, who _also_ work for the state.”

Sydney tried not to smirk but felt a sense of relief at the judge’s words. St. Croix had briefed her on Ramona Franklin’s common sense and fairness as well as the woman’s pragmatic attitude. 

“Very well,” the judge finished her quelling stare at Henderson and looked to the attorneys, “let’s get started, shall we?”

The presentation of the facts took the better part of the morning and Sydney did her best to pay attention, but found herself looking at the other table. Henderson ignored her for the most part, and spent his time scribbling on a notepad while the young man he’d hired paced in front of the judge’s bench, looking more like a model for the Men’s Wearhouse than a lawyer.

Judge Franklin looked a little bored herself until the first mention of the robbers; then she sat up and focused on the attorney’s words. Next to her St. Croix was attentive as well, and he smiled ever so slightly.

“What?” Sydney whispered, but St. Croix gave a little shake of his head so she stayed quiet. It was the judge who interrupted the proceedings.

“Excuse me, did you say Aaron Duchamp?” she asked. “That name sounds familiar to me.”

“Yes your Honor. Mr. Duchamp has several priors for robbery here in Seattle,” Henderson’s lawyer admitted.

“Was he brought in for that attempt at Trop Cher?” The judge wanted to know, looking peeved. “That Valentine’s day thing about a year ago?”

“He was questioned at that time but the evidence was inconclusive,” came the grudging admission. 

St. Croix cleared his throat. “Actually your Honor, I think you’ll find that my client’s testimony states that one of the robbers claimed to recognize _her_ from that previous incident.”

Henderson’s lawyer looked startled; Henderson angry.  
“Is that so Mrs. Strange?”

“Yes your Honor. It’s in my deposition,” Sydney told her and it took a moment for the court clerk to find the reference. 

The little woman cleared her throat and at the judge’s nod read out, “Subject states that the person in question said to her, quote, “Trop Cher. My boss went to jail after your damned rain dance, here, have a bullet for that.”

“That’s irrelevant!” Henderson protested. “It’s just _more_ proof that she habitually creates danger wherever she goes!”

“Mr. Henderson, facts can’t be both irrelevant _and_ relevant at the same time,” Judge Franklin told him. “If the perpetrator had a prior motive for openly threatening Mrs. Strange I think it’s highly pertinent, and the fact that he did so while committing a crime that could have harmed YOU makes your lawsuit both frivolous and damned ungrateful.”

She grabbed her gavel and slammed it down. “I’m issuing a summary judgment in favor of Mrs. Strange. And in the future Mr. Henderson I strongly advise you to stop tying up the court’s time with pointless lawsuits.”

Sydney blinked and looked to St. Croix, who smiled at her. “I think we’re done.”

“That’s it?” Sydney blurted, startled. “No trial?”

At the other table Henderson’s lawyer was stuffing papers into a briefcase and looking like he needed an antacid. Henderson himself looked thunderous.

“No trial. In this case summary judgment means the judge feels your actions were justified,” St. Croix told her. “Looks like we didn’t need Daytona’s research after all.”

Sydney was about to say something when the courtroom window darkened and shattered as a body came sailing through it. The judge let out a yell and everyone dropped to the floor except Sydney, who spun and held her hands up, ready to fight.

_“Chéri!”_ came a bellowing voice. _“I am here to save you!”_

“Oh shit,” Sydney murmured in disbelief. “Batroc?”

_“Oui!”_ He landed heavily on his feet for such a big man, loaded with bandoliers, holsters, white teeth flashing. Sydney watched as the bailiffs drew their guns and dropped into stance, aiming them.

_“No! Uh, I don’t need to be saved, Georges. I’m **fine** , really,”_ Sydney told him, aware that she was mangling her French, particularly when he grinned at her. _“They’ve got guns, please don’t make them shoot you!”_

_“Monsieur Batroc,”_ St. Croix called to him also in French from his crouch under the table. _“Mrs. Strange **won** the case.”_

_“Good. Wait, you’re **married** now? And not to ME?”_ He gave her a sorrowful look. 

Sydney held up her left hand. _“Uh, he gave me diamonds **first,**_ ” she admitted. _“I **did** wait for you, you know.”_ It was a lie, but a gentle one and Sydney held her breath until Batroc finally sighed, his great chest heaving.

_“Ah Cherie, you’re right. A treasure such as you cannot be neglected, and I have done so **far** too long,”_ Batroc rumbled. _“Whoever this Strange is, he does not **deserve** you, you know this, yes?”_

_“Uh, yeah. I guess,”_ Sydney could see the bailiffs inching closer. From around the bench Judge Franklin crawled out and gave a little growl.

“I expect you to pay for that window, Mister Batroc!”

Sydney watched him slowly reach into a zippered pocket on his arm and pull out handfuls of bills. 

And then unexpectedly, Harold H. Henderson screamed and charged.

“STOP. DESTROYING. SEATTLE PROPERTY, YOU HEATHEN SUPERS!”

The tiny man ran straight at Batroc, looking like an enraged gerbil going up against a bemused gorilla. Batroc reached out a hand and dropped it on the top of his assailant’s head, stopping his charge. _“Is **this** your husband?”_ He gave Sydney a look of disbelief and shook his head.

_“NO!”_ she told him, looking disgusted. _“That’s the man who was suing me. Please. I have better taste than THAT!”_

Outside the sound of sirens began to grow louder and the bailiffs were looking more and more nervous. “Step back and drop your weapons sir!” one of them called out.

Sydney bit her lip, aware that at any moment things could go from mildly ludicrous to lethal. She shifted, moving to put the bailiffs in her range when a glowing portal opened in the courtroom.

“Oh _now_ what?” Judge Franklin demanded. 

Sydney watched as Stephen stepped through, took in the entire courtroom in one glance and gave her a quick smile. “So, you won, I see.”

“Stephen—”she muttered. He waved a hand, freezing the bailiffs and turned to Batroc, sizing him up.

The Frenchman was grinning. _“Now **this** one . . . **This** one is worthy!”_

“Help,” Henderson squeaked, his head still caught in the vise of Batroc’s grip.

_“You’ll have to let him go,”_ Strange murmured to the Frenchman. _“Although I thank you for saving my beloved wife from his outburst.”_

Batroc shrugged modestly, enjoying this moment of manly camaraderie. _“It was nothing. He is but a flea, eh? So you are the Strange one. Be good to her,” Batroc warned, “Or I will come take her away."_

Sydney huffed, but Stephen shot her a warning glance of love and amusement before turning back to Batroc. _“Indeed. We both are men of honor sir and I will heed your words. In the meantime . . .”_

_“In the meantime there are diamonds for the taking! I am off!”_ Batroc did a magnificent backflip out of the window, releasing Henderson at the very last second; the little man slammed onto the floor with a ‘thud.’

Stephen repaired the window and turned to the judge. “Your Honor . . .”

She waved a hand at him. “Go,” she murmured tiredly. “No real harm done and I think there’s about three hundred dollars on the floor for the Children’s fund. We'll make sure Mr. Henderson's taken care of.”

 

Sydney linked her arm with his and stepped through the portal with him. “So how was YOUR day?” she asked.


	9. Chapter 9

By now Caleb was adept at controlling the ball. Several of them in fact, and could maneuver them with a wiggle of his nose or a glance. Strange was impressed and proud of course; the pleasure in his son’s guided lessons was one of the highlights of his day. They spent time in the mornings together, practicing magic through games and cleaning the house at the same time because Strange believed in tidiness.

Desmond did his best to give them messes to clean, and part of each morning was dedicated to cleaning little piles of previous meals throughout the yard. This particular morning they were waiting for Sydney to return from her appointment.

“Squirrel,” Caleb pointed, making the little bones reassemble into the animal’s skeleton for a moment.

“Yes,” Strange agreed, sending a flash through them and reducing them to meal that sprinkled on the lawn. “What about _those_?”

Caleb made a face. “Bone bat.” He shook his head. “Ucky.”

“Now now, they can’t help what they are,” Strange pointed out, and disintegrated the pile. “And Desmond does love to eat them.”

“Yeah,” the child agreed. He darted ahead, almost to the edge of the road, stopping to poke at something in the grass. “Flit!”

Strange moved to join his son, feeling a tingle of something in the air. Something magic but not dangerous per se. He looked to where Caleb was poking around and spotted the faint glow of an aura gleaming in the frosty grass.

A large moth clung to a tall strand. Not an unusual situation here in Seattle, but a glittering rainbow of color decorated each wing, and the electric blue of the eyespots made it particularly lovely. Strange stared at the insect, sensing . . . a personality. “You _know_ this moth?” he finally asked Caleb.

“Yep.” Caleb assured him and reached gently down. The moth fluttered onto his chubby index finger, flexing the glittering wings slowly. “Hello, hello,” he chortled.  
The moth made a humming sound, although Strange wasn’t sure how. He held out a finger. “May I?”

Caleb moved his hand to bring her closer to his father; the moth fluttered up and landed on his index finger. The moment it did, Strange received distinct mental impressions from the tiny insect.

_I am Flitviscaracata the ten thousandth, alien one! You see before you the Queen of the Night and Destroyer of Evil, now the gracious self-appointed Guardian of the young walking Dear Pupa from the deserts of broken light on the far plane of the abominable drifting darkness. Make yourself **known** to me or suffer my wrath!_

Strange drew in a breath trying not to laugh. “I am Stephen Strange, Sorcerer Supreme and father of your . . . ward, your . . . majesty.”

_A male. How unfortunate for you. Still, you have bred well and I give you permission to die happy with that knowledge._

“Ah, thank you, but my lifespan is not yet complete, your Highness--”

_The **correct** form of address is your All-Beautiful Glitterness!_

“Your All-Beautiful Glitterness,” Strange rumbled, feeling a strong sense of surreality. 

Squatting next to him Caleb smiled. “Flit fights. She fighted Desmond,”

“Did she?” Strange looked around for the Splintercat, and finally spotted him very deliberately grooming and rudely exposing himself in their direction as he did so. From the look in Desmond’s eye it wasn’t an accident, and Strange held back a chuckle.

_Fear not, I bested the imbecile fanged one easily! He is no match for I, Flitviscaracata the Ten Thousandth! I have spared the mangy beast for the Dear Pupa’s sake. For the time being._

“Generous of you,” Strange agreed, wondering exactly how and why this creature had bonded to Caleb.

“She ‘most got eated. I made the snake blow up,” Caleb told his father.

_I had nearly freed myself but felt it would be good training for the Darling Pupa to assist me!_

Strange gave a slow nod. “Of _course_ your All-Beautiful Glitterness. Very gracious of you to help him learn the ways of compassion.”

_Yes! Compassion! I am so very full to the brim with it that it was only right to share it!_

Strange felt the moth was rightly full to the brim with something, but it most likely wasn’t compassion. To prevent either Caleb or Flitviscaracata from possibly reading his thoughts, he held his hand higher and let the breeze ruffle her wings.

She was impossibly beautiful in the morning light.

“Flit is my friend,” Caleb announced. “She good.”  
Strange looked at his son; the boy slowly took a breath. “Most times,” he amended.

“I see, and you wish her to . . . stay?” This was tricky; Strange wasn’t certain about having his son exposed to a creature with this much ego.

Caleb gave a slow nod. “Inna garden,” he agreed. “That would be good.”

Strange thought that was a fair compromise since the garden was in the back yard away from the street and not inside the house. He made a mental note to mention the newest member of the menagerie to Sydney and wondered if he would need to mediate; the two of them had similar bloodthirsty maternal instincts.

“All right then. Welcome, your All-Beautiful Glitterness to our home,” Stephen intoned politely.

The moth preened a moment before replying. _For the Dear Pupa I accept this humble and unworthy hospitality of yours. I have requirements of course and will provide you with the extensive lists to fulfill as soon as possible, unfortunate male. In the meantime, I will survey my new domain!_

She fluttered off, sparkling in the light, and Stephen sighed, hoping whatever this new and demanding creature needed that it wouldn’t be hard to procure.

A car pulled up into the driveway and Sydney got out, looking happy. Caleb ran over to her and before she could bend to hug him, he wrapped his arms around her hips, face pressing to her belly.

“Hi baby!” he crowed happily. 

Sydney stroked the back of Caleb’s head and beamed at Stephen as he came over. The sheer joy radiating from her was impossible to miss and he slid his arms around her as well, all of them hugging tightly for a long moment.

Caleb wriggled, patting his hands on his mother’s stomach lightly. “She happy. Me too.”

“Ah me _too_ ,” Sydney nodded, wiping her eyes with one hand. Stephen dropped a palm to press lightly where Caleb had touched. He strove to sense anything and was rewarded with a tiny flare in his thoughts.  
He chuckled and kissed her before adding, “It seems we’re increasing within and without today. Truly joyous.”

“Without?”

“Yes, apparently Caleb has acquired a fairy godmother or sorts. Think Auntie Mame crossed with . . . Snow White’s stepmother.”

Sydney looked down but Caleb was heading towards the house, bouncing happily, Desmond at his side. Stephen waited until his son had reached the porch before adding, “Before you get worked up, Flit, AKA Flitviscaracata the great and terrible is a moth. An extremely egotistical moth.”

The humor in Sydney’s gaze was hard to miss. “A moth.”

“Oh not just _any_ moth,” Stephen assured her, “but we have more important matters to discuss, beloved mine. What did Wilhelmina say?”

“Mid-summer, this June most likely.”

“A Solstice daughter to go with our Walpurgis son, then. More magic.”

“So it seems,” Sydney agreed. “Annnnd in memory of the night she was conceived, I propose the name ‘Celeste.’” She blushed but her eyes were full of mischievous memories.

Stephen felt his own face heat a little. “Altogether fitting and charming, I think. Yes, Celeste sounds perfect.” 

They walked arm in arm towards the house, comfortable without speaking, in easy sync as they mounted the stairs. Sydney turned to lean on the porch railing, looking out over the yard and beyond it the distant view of Belleview. “This is good,” she murmured to him. “It really is. I never thought I’d have this. Never even knew it was possible for me and now? It’s exactly right, Stephen. Thank you.”

He slipped behind her, spooning against her back, giving a soft and contented purr of his own. “Your words are mine as well, beloved—I have gained tenfold over in my time with you, in all ways that are good and right. Sometimes the karma works in our favor.”

She turned her head to kiss him and the sounds of spills and yowling came from within the house, making both of them laugh.

“Life goes on,” Stephen assured her, and went to see what new mess Caleb had made.

end


End file.
